ngs, then," suggested the Patchwork Girl.
"That seems a lot more sensible than those stirring times with the
kettles."

"That's the idea, Scraps," said the Glass Cat, approvingly. "I'm glad
to find you have decent brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can
see 'em work; they're pink."

"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me 'Scraps'? Is that my
name?"

"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to name you 'Angeline,'" said
the Magician.

"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a laugh. "It fits me
better, for my patchwork is all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for
naming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of your own?"

"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once gave me, but which is quite
undignified for one of my importance," answered the cat. "She called me
'Bungle.'"

"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad bungle, taken all in all. I
was wrong to make you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and
brittle thing never before existed."

"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the cat. "I've been alive a
good many years, for Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first magic
Powder of Life he ever made, and so far I've never broken or cracked or
chipped any part of me."

"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder," laughed the Patchwork Girl,
and the cat went to the mirror to see.

"Tell me," pleaded Ojo, speaking to the Crooked Magician, "what must we
find to make the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?"

"First," was the reply, "I must have a six-leaved clover. That can only
be found in the green country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved
clovers are very scarce, even there."

"I'll find it for you," promised Ojo.

"The next thing," continued the Magician, "is the left wing of a yellow
butterfly. That color can only be found in the yellow country of the
Winkies, West of the Emerald City."

"I'll find it," declared Ojo. "Is that all?"

"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see what comes next."

Saying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer of his cabinet and drew out
a small book covered with blue leather. Looking through the pages he
found the recipe he wanted and said: "I must have a gill of water from
a dark well."

"What kind of a well is that, sir?" asked the boy.

"One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in
a gold bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it."

"I'll get the water from the dark well," said Ojo.

"Then